


our story will be remembered on gilded ceilings

by octoberswan



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 00:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16357475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octoberswan/pseuds/octoberswan
Summary: It was the music that first drew you to him. Sweet strains of a lyre, melodies he pulled from the air just for you. His lips traced the shell of your ear and his fingers on the strings were his fingers inside of you, playing your heart as easily as breathing.And you fell, faster and harder than ever before and his touch was fire and his mouth branded you untouchable, undefeatable, immortal.





	our story will be remembered on gilded ceilings

He is sweetness, and light, and you feel his touch upon your skin every morning. The sunlight caresses your cheek, and you turn your face up to the sun's warmth and know that he is watching you. 

Your father would not approve. Your father has picked out a nice girl from the village, or at least he had back when you could still walk freely. 

Your father curses the gods, sometimes. Quietly, with a fierce anger you do not understand. Not that it matters much- there is only god you care about. 

It was the music that first drew you to him. Sweet strains of a lyre, melodies he pulled from the air just for you. His lips traced the shell of your ear and his fingers on the strings were his fingers inside of you, playing your heart as easily as breathing.

And you fell, faster and harder than ever before and his touch was fire and his mouth branded you untouchable, undefeatable, immortal.

Your father’s fingers are bloody and shaking, and the feathers weigh heavy on your back. You look down the steep side of the tower you are trapped in and out across the wide ocean, blue and sparkling.

Your father’s hands push you into the air, and suddenly you are soaring, you are flying free and the air is kissing you, holding you, laughing with you as you swoop and skim the tops of the waves.

The sun beats hot on your back, and the secret grows inside of you. Your heart pounds and the blood runs hot in your veins. You climb higher into the sky, ignore your father’s warning shouts. 

The sun is hot and merciless, and the sky is wide around you and the sun is hot, hotter, it is searing through your thin shirt and burning the skin of your back, you look down and see liquid drops of wax falling and you are falling, you cannot hear your father’s voice anymore.

You fall for years. The wind rushing past is quiet. The wax has cooled and you feel it on your skin, hard and cold. You are cold. You close your eyes, and you are dark and cold, and still falling.

The ocean is colder. You see red, and feel your bones break inside you, and what god has ever cared for a mortal? They are distractions, fleeting thoughts or a passing pleasure, but you are no one to grow old with. 

You will descend to the dark halls where the sun has never shone, and Persephone will hear your story and share a dark look with her husband, a look that speaks of the foolishness of gods and the destruction they leave in their wake. 

There are many stories like yours, here.

Your father will scream, and cry, and rage against the heat of the sun that sunk you, and Apollo will not hear his curses. 

He is far away, laughing in a forested glade, chasing a beautiful nymph with leaves in her hair and tears in her eyes as she runs.


End file.
